


One Kiss (and Real Ending)

by ksj2008



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018)
Genre: Bunch Of Feels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21666508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksj2008/pseuds/ksj2008
Summary: Freddie used to call Roger "Blondie". He would say, "My precious, precious Blondie."
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Kudos: 12





	One Kiss (and Real Ending)

**Author's Note:**

> I think I got asked to translate this into English. I tried my best, please forgive me for my broken English. It's not beta'ed, I'm using a free version of Grammarly, and English is my second language :(
> 
> Original copy: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16575146/chapters/38840135

I do not own anything and all RPS fictions are OOC for sure. 

+  
Blondie, that’s what Freddie used to call Roger.   
He would hold cigarettes between his fingers while holding a cup of whiskey, fingertips touching his chin, relaxed and casually, with a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouse.   
“My precious, precious Blondie.”  
Roger could never admit to anyone that when Freddie first called him that, instead of smashing his head with a rum bottle like usual (if Brian May hadn’t stopped him), he blushed hard. Raised his glasses with awkwardness all over, he hid behind alcohol and nicotine, sheepishly peeked at the distorted shapes of Freddie’s face through the golden alcohol, heart thumping like a spring bunny about to burst out his mouth. 

+  
Freddie asked Brian once, “how bad is Roger’s alcohol tolerance?”  
Brian May barked into laughter, “you fucking kidding me, that kid used to knock out the entire bar dead, he only fakes being drunk when he’s surrounded by girls. Don’t be fooled.”  
Freddie looked rather confused, he nodded hesitantly, and mumbled something like “he definitely has me fooled” and walked away. Brian didn’t give him much attention and focused on cleaning his guitar.   
Later, much much later, he realized, he should have asked. 

+  
John preferred to remain as the low key humble bass player in this flamboyant band.   
But him choosing low key and action-type, did not mean that people can use him as a confession tree.   
He sustained his poker face and kept cleaning his bass, concealing all his thoughts, even though Roger literally just dropped a bomb in front of him.   
“The fans who want to marry Freddie literally can line up the entire street, I have too many competitions!”  
Roger was holding an almost empty whiskey bottle, hugging the back of the chair, hazily staring at Freddie and Brian through recording room glass. His eyes all watery, head tilted aside, like a teenage girl freshly falling in love, counting the non-existing flower pedals – he likes me, he likes me not, he likes me…..  
John really did not want to deal with a drunk.   
He gently patted on the older-on-the-outside-but-baby-on-the-inside blond on his head, “There there.”  
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna puke – ”  
“If you puke on my bass I will murder your ass.” John calmly expressed his objection.   
Roger glared at John with a look like a poor puppy that got kicked, covered his mouth and immediately left the room.   
John looked up and saw the other two in the recording studio. Brian just said something, and Freddie couldn’t stop laughing, quite exaggerated look, his front teeth shining, full of emotions and energy and love.   
John thought he understands Roger and that street of fans.   
Who couldn’t love Freddie?

+  
There was only Freddie in the living room, quietly playing the piano, occasionally pausing and jogging something down on his notebook. He lit another cigarette and put it in between his fingers, scratched his eyebrows.  
The liquor bottle was empty a while ago, Freddie was debating whether to just sober up or grab another bottle, a bunch of noise came over from the stairwell, and then a big thump with Roger’s broken cry.  
“Fuck!”  
“What are you doing? If you wake up John again he will cut your precious hair for real.” Freddie laughed, picked up his notebook and wrote down something.  
“Only you think it’s precious…” lying on the ground, Roger murmured.   
“What was that?”  
“Nothing.” Roger stood up, picked up the liquor bottle from the floor and stumbled into the living room, threw himself into a sofa next to the piano, curled up like a cat, stared at Freddie bluntly.  
“Still up?” Freddie didn’t pay attention to him, just busy writing.   
Roger did not answer, fixed his eyes on Freddie, leaned in, rest his burning cheeks on the cold surface of the piano.   
“You look like you are about to puke. If you puke Paul is not gonna be happy about it.” Freddie pointed the expensive piano, shrugged his shoulder, grabbed Roger’s whiskey bottle and poured himself a cup.   
“Hm, since you are here anyway, darling, read this part for me and sing it. “ Freddie scratched on his notebook.   
Roger did not hear anything Freddie said, he was too busy staring into his eyes.   
Those deep dark eyes, especially when focusing on music and creation, they turn into the reflection of endless stars and eternity underneath the bottom of the ancient wells.   
“Freddie.” Roger realized his voice was shaky.   
“Yeah….?”  
Freddie’s last syllabus did not drop on the carpet; Roger swallowed it.   
Lips touching lips, firestone lighting up the world.  
Roger shoved away all the things between him and Freddie, squeezed himself onto the tiny piano chair, straddled onto Freddie’s laps and caressed the man’s chin, intertwined his tongue with the man’s.   
The kiss was great, only the spiciness of the alcohol. When Roger released Freddie and gasped for air, his tongue was all numb. He looped his arms around Freddie’s neck and smiled rather childishly.   
“I finally kissed them.”   
“Huh?”  
“You lips and tongue. God forbids how much I want to claim them as my own.”  
“Darling, you are drunk.” Freddie tried to shake free, but Roger pressed on his shoulders.   
“Yeah, I am.” Roger slid off the piano chair, parted Freddie’s legs and kneeled in between, looked up to Freddie as if he was about to pray, “Yeah, so, everything will just stay for tonight, tonight only.”  
Freddie liked tight pants, so it took some effort for Roger to take off those pants, and he still ripped open the poor fabric.   
“Oops, sorry…” Roger apologized to the bulge in front of his eyes.  
Freddie lightly pulled his hair. “Where are you apologizing to.” He sounded a bit mad.   
“Doesn’t matter, they are all you anyway.” Roger fought back but didn’t even dare to look up. The fingertips that could beat perfect drums were cold and numb and couldn’t stop shaking. He yanked Freddie’s underwear, and when he was about to finally lick on the half-hard bulge, Freddie shoved him away.   
“Freddie?” Roger didn’t want to sound so pathetic and desperate, but he couldn’t help it. He sat on his heels and begged.   
The Queen’s soul just stared down at him, blank with emotions, only the eyes shining like the lighthouse in the dark sea.   
“You are drunk, honey, let me help you to bed.” Freddie’s voice was soft and gentle; his fingers caressed the drummer’s cheeks.   
Roger then realized he was crying. 

+  
The day Freddie left, they all went to see him, stayed with him for his final journey.   
Jim and Maria were by his side, the two people who made Freddie whole, holding the man’s slim hands, whispering all the memories with him.   
Brian and John sat by the end of the bed companying Freddie, occasionally laughed with Freddie about all the dumb stuff they did before.   
Roger was the last one to come in. He stood by the bed, looked at Freddie.   
Freddie put a smile on his face, and said, “There you are my precious Blondie.”  
Roger smiled, gently squeezed Freddie’s hand.   
“I’m here, Freddie.” 

Real Ending  
+  
Phone rang. Roger immediately picked up.   
“Hey I’m almost there, hey Freddie, bud, I’m only about 100 yards away, I can see your house –”  
“He’s gone.” Brian’s voice sounded unrealistic from afar.   
Roger thought, how could 100 yards sound so far from the phone?   
“Roger, Roger are you there?”  
Brian’s voice was slowly fading into the background. Roger didn’t realize phone was slipping through his hand. He stared at the road in front of him, forgot to press on the gas pedal, and the car slowly stopped in the middle of the road.   
Roger pulled off the seat belt, opened the door, and immediately stepped into the mud. He lost his balance and fell into the grass field.   
It was pouring in England in November, soaked him wet entirely. 

+  
John first realized the unsettle absence of Roger.   
He came out of Freddie’s room, closed the door behind him. Brian May was sitting on the floor, covering his face. “Where’s Roger?” John asked.   
Brian looked up, eyes all red, “I just called him, he…”  
“He’s still not here. Let me go find him.”  
“I will go.” Brian finally stood up, he patted John’s shoulder, and took a deep breath, “stay here. Mary and Jim need you.”  
John nodded.   
Brian grabbed his jacket and headed out. 

+  
Brian found Roger’s car about 100 yards away from Freddie’s house. The car did not look damaged, and the driver side’s door was open.   
He sighed, took a few steps forward, walked around the car front, and saw Roger lying on the crib, facing down butt up, like a pathetic ostrich.   
“Get up.” He kicked Roger’s legs.   
Roger did not respond.   
Brian felt really tired. He sat down next to Roger in the rain puddle, and took a cigarette out, lit one up.   
“Give me one.” Roger’s voice sounded muffled.   
“Sit up.”  
A moment of silence, then Roger finally crawled up, covered with mud, even the blond hair was all messy with mud, grass, and rainwater.  
Roger’s face was pale as a ghost, Brian touched his cheek, it was cold as a corpse.   
“Take one, warm up a bit.” He shoved the lit cigarette into Roger’s lips.  
Roger nodded, wiped off rainwater on his face.   
Brian already lost a family member, the immense pain was so much he barely could hold together. He did not even want to look at Roger right now, not with his all grief and sad face. But he still had one last question.  
“Freddie was asking where you were before he left.”  
“He was asking me where his precious Blondie was.”  
“Roger, where the fuck ware you?”   
Brian still looked away from Roger. He then heard a broken sob, as if someone choked on so much sadness. He sighed and tilted his umbrella toward the other man.   
“You will never get over this.” 

+  
Numbers of years ago, on that night, Brian stood by the stairwell and saw the two figures in the living room.   
Roger was like a moth into the flame, fueled by despair and desire. His eyes were drowning in Freddie Mercury, and everything about this man.   
Freddie was just silently looking back at him, gentle and calm, concealed all the colors and vividness as an artist, just plain and cold like a piece of white paper.   
Brian silently went back to his room.   
After a while, he heard steps on the stairs, and then Freddie’s soft voice, telling Roger good night.   
“Good night Roger, sleep tight.”  
Brian opened his door, looked into Freddie’s eyes.   
“Do not give him hope.”  
“I will never,” Freddie replied. 

The End.


End file.
